Totally Twisted
by wingedraksha
Summary: She hunted him down for vengeance, but once she caught him... The lines between hatred and desire, good guy and villain, are blurred forever. Dark!Kitty. Kyro. Song in the first part is Sweet Sacrifice, by Evanescence.


_It's true,_

_we're all a little insane-_

_but it's so clear, now that I'm unchained…_

I'm smiling. I know this because I can feel the muscles of my face tightening, not because of any happiness inside. He's still kneeling in front of me, staring up, eyes wide. Those pretty, pretty eyes. I used to be afraid of him. Now that's funny.

"What-"

"Shut up," I interrupt, and his mouth clicks closed. My smile widens, and the gun in my hand drifts from his temple to his nose. Those hazel eyes don't follow it, as I'd expected, but instead stay locked on my face. I'm a little disappointed. The fear is there, oh yes, but so is the anger. He's angry, is he? He's so very furious with me, the little girl who owns him just as sure as she owns that stupid leather uniform. I can read his thoughts through his gaze, easy as pie. But the anger makes me happy in a way the fear doesn't. I don't want a cowering little shadow of the boy who plays with fire. I want this one, this taut, feral creature so torn with rage and shame and hate. I can see the struggle there, the fight against reaching for the lighter I kicked out of his hand. I shake my head. Bad idea.

_Fear is only in our minds,_

_taking over all the time._

_Fear is only in our minds,_

_but it's taking over all the time._

"Where's your boss?" He spits at my feet, and I bend closer to him, the gun tracing a path down his throat. His adam's apple jumps. "I said, where's your boss, Johnny?" This time, when he opens his mouth to speak, I let him.

"You're fucking psychotic, Pryde." I laugh. He flinches.

"It's been a while. The years have… changed me." Years. Four years, to be exact. Four years since, like a little baby, I cried at the Professor's funeral. Four years since I was face to face with the infamous Pyro, the lost boy. Four years of fighting, of killing, of…

"So what, you're gonna kill me? That it? Shoot me execution style? The old Kitty didn't have it in her."

"The old Kitty is, like, totally dead," I say coldly, mocking the valley girl accent I finally seem to have grown out of. "The new one has no intentions of killing you, though, Johnny-boy. This gun? Doesn't have bullets. Well, not the metal kind, anyway." His eyes, if possible, grow even wider at the implications of that statement. I grin, a surge of power rushing through me. I hunted him down for a reason, after all.

_You poor sweet innocent thing,_

_dry your eyes and testify!_

_You know you live to break me._

_Don't deny, sweet sacrifice…_

"You killed Bobby," I say quietly. John sneers.

"You want an apology? It's war, sweetheart," he grits out. Trust John to be bitchy at gunpoint. I cuff him with the butt of the weapon, knocking him off-balance. He topples to the left, blood welling from a new split in his right eyebrow. He curses, and now, his glare is pure loathing. He hates me for this. Of course he does. He doesn't hate me for what I am, or for hunting him. See, lots of people have tried to kill Pyro.

Me?

I put him on his knees.

"Get up."

"Fuck you."

"Get up, or you'll never touch a flame again."

He shoves himself off the ground, kneeling again.

_One day, I'm gonna forget your name…_

_And one sweet day, you're gonna drown in my lost pain._

"Why don't you kill me? I killed your little boyfriend. That's what this is about, then?" He's still sneering, and that just won't do. I reach down, grab his chin in my hand, and force his head up. The tendons in his neck stand out harshly, and his eyes are harder than diamond. I bend my head, slamming my mouth against his. I wasn't aware I was going to do this until I've done it, and now I'm glad. His lips are warm, and taste like rage. This is cruelty, but I am unused to the dark kind of pleasure shooting from my mouth to my belly. Breaking away savagely, I let his chin go. His head jerks down before leveling, the pressure he was putting against my hand suddenly unneeded.

"I'm not here for revenge," I snarl, shaking my hair out of my eyes. "I'm here for fun."

_Fear is only in our minds,_

_taking over all the time._

_Fear is only in our minds,_

_but it's taking over all the time._

"Didn't know you were so kinky, you bitch," he hisses darkly. "Touch me again and I'll rip your fucking throat out."

"I'm the one with the gun," I counter sweetly, but even I can hear the undertone of warning in that sweetness. "You do what I say."

"What if I don't? What if I take the Cure? Your little trump card will be worthless. What then, huh?" He sounds panicked and enraged, all at once. It's a delicious kind of desperation.

"Wanna find out?" He raises his chin, lips thinning, but says nothing. "Good boy."

"Go to hell."

"I'm already there," I laugh, and run a hand down the side of his face. My thumb brushes against the cut in his eyebrow, and he doesn't wince. His skin is warm and damp with sweat, his hair messy, two thick strands plastered down one temple. The muscles in his jaw tense, jumping slightly as my fingers move over them. He's clenching his jaw so tightly that I'm amazed his teeth haven't chipped. I lean in, carefully ghosting the hand with the gun so that, should he be stupid enough to try for it, all he'll grab is air. My breath puffs against his mouth and chin, and he shudders. His eyes are still on mine, refusing to submit completely. The fire that burns in those darkening orbs is colder than dry ice, and I want him then, more than I've wanted anything in a long, long time. I want that fire. I want the anger that bleeds through his every pore. I want his suffering.

This time, when my lips touch his, he kisses me back viciously. Our teeth clash, my lower lip catching between his canines. The pain is sharp and beautiful and I want to hit him, then. I want to see him bleed. I want to watch him bruise. His hands come up, and I tense, but he doesn't try for the gun. Instead, he wraps his fingers around my waist, gripping me so tightly I think that I will be the one bruising. I can't tell whether he is trying to push me away or hold me closer. I end the kiss, shoving him backwards hard enough to knock him to the ground once more, his hands falling through my suddenly intangible body. He sprawls onto his back, catching himself on his elbows, panting. Now, for the first time, I cannot read the look on his face. I kick him, hard, in the ribs. He grunts, but doesn't cringe back.

"Don't look at me like that," I snap. I half-expect him to smirk and say something that would make me hurt him again, and I almost hope he does.

He is silent.

There is something almost accusing in his gaze now, and I feel that dark pleasure twisting into an even blacker sense of guilt. _This is rape_, I hear, from somewhere deep inside my own memory. _You bastard, this is rape!_ I bare my teeth, fighting back that voice, and, even deeper, that memory.

_You poor sweet innocent thing,_

_dry your eyes and testify!_

_And oh, you love to hate me,_

_don't you, honey?_

_I'm your sacrifice._

"Get out of here," I hear myself saying, flatly. John stares at me, unmoving. "I said get the fuck out!" He stands smoothly, face completely blank. I let the gun fall to my side, not looking at him.

There is something wrong inside me.

_Do you wonder, when you hate,_

_if it's still too late to survive your mistakes?_

Pyro leans down and picks up his lighter, eyes not leaving my form, but I don't raise the gun. He's backing out of the alley I trapped him in now, silent and sleek, like a jungle cat.

"I'll come for you," he says, and his voice is different from the mad, sneering mockery that I am so used to. It's just as flat as mine was when I ordered him away, and filled with just as much grim, cold promise. I turn my head and look at him. No smile on my face now. I don't say a word, and in a moment, he is gone.

I look down at the gun in my hand, filled with its cruel little vials of chemical.

I'm still there when the sun, after such a long night, begins to rise.


End file.
